


The Sherlock Horror Picture Show

by Starlithorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case, Rocky Horror Picture Show - Freeform, Sherlock in knickers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John solve a case in sequins and corsets. All in a day's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sherlock Horror Picture Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EventHorizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/gifts).



> So EventHorizon created a Sherlock paper doll in one of her fics, and later went on to talk about Ben in Tim Curry's corset, and it was perfect, and so this happened.

John stared uncertainly at the sequined corset— _sequined corset?!_ —in his hands. He wasn't even slightly ready to think if the rainbow booty shorts (and that is _precisely_  what they were) in the box the corset had come in. And _Oh, dear God_ , the fishnets and heels and _really, Sherlock?_

John, unlike his flatmate, knew plenty about pop culture, and cult films, and _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. And Sherlock had gotten him a damn _Columbia_ costume. Complete with makeup.

"Uhh, Sherlock, why did you give me a Columbia costume?" John asked, quirking a brow. It was depressing, really, how used to this he was. Rather than protest, all he could really do anymore was ask _why_.

"Because the company already has a Riff Raff, and you aren't nearly tall enough for Magenta," was the answer, coming easily from that stupid face.

"And who are _you_ going to be?"

"Frank N. Furter, obviously."

All John could do was stare at Sherlock, a bit blankly, and echo, "Obviously."

* * *

The "company" was little more than a group of friends that acted out the movie every Saturday night. It wasn't like one of those showings where actors acted in tandem with the movie. No, this was more like a play. The performances often got a bit rowdy, but in a good-natured way, and everyone had great fun.

Until, of course, their Frank N. Furter turned up dead, in costume, twenty minutes before a show. No one had even known until his cue to come down in the elevator. And by _elevator_ , we really mean _cardboard box pushed onstage that sort of looks like the elevator in the film_. Close enough.

That alone was enough to pique Sherlock's curiosity, but the fact that everyone the victim (real name: Thomas Alberts) knew had cast-iron alibis left him buzzing with excitement. No one understood how a man, who was generally popular and really quite nice, ended up in his elevator/cardboard box with his throat slit.

The company's usual Columbia, also a man, had agreed to sit in the audience and watch as Sherlock and John acted and sought out the killer.

And so Sherlock and John found themselves in a dingy dressing room of a dingy theatre, dressed to the fucking nines.

John thought he looked downright ridiculous in his costume, his leg hair poking through the fishnets and over the blue socks, and he had a bit of trouble walking in the heels. They were low for dancing, and John had had a _lot_ of practice in them (he'd learned the entire script, dance numbers and all, in less than a week. If that wasn't something to be proud of then...well, all right), but walking was still a bit tricky.

Sherlock, however, in his impossible platforms and thigh-highs and fucking _knickers_  looked bizarrely at ease. He applied the makeup with deft hands and helped John with his own.

John helped with the Boss tattoo on Sherlock's arm.

"So help me, if any member of the Met takes a picture of us, I will not be responsible for my actions," John hissed from the wings as he watched Brad and Janet sing to each other in the church scene. He had a demure dress on over his glittery tap costume, and was fairly pushed onto the stage for his brief moment as not-quite-Columbia. He scurried back to Sherlock's side, a little frazzled at that brief moment onstage.

Oh, God, this was going to be bloody _awful_.

But then, once they started acting out scenes in the castle, the stage full of people, he began to feel more comfortable. He found that working with Sherlock in this capacity was a lot like working with him in any other. They reacted to each other's cues, written or not, and found an easy, though _sparkly_  harmony with each other.

John very nearly forgot what they were even there for, until Sherlock noted someone in the audience. He leapt off the stage in those heels, grabbed the suspect by the arm, and hauled him in the direction of a waiting—and giggling—police force. That Sherlock jumped back onstage and finished his number spoke volumes.

They finished the play, and it was actually much better than John could have imagined. Greg did take a picture ("Sorry, guys, but the canteen needs this.") but John only barely minded. At least some of that applause was for him, and while he was most definitely _not_ gay, he was flattered by the winks and flirtatious smiles the men in the audience gave him.

Sherlock probably got a few men pregnant from the knickers alone.

The suspect later admitted to killing Alberts, and to planning to kill the company's Janet. It was, as usual, a case of cheating gone...killy.

Sherlock and John acted with them twice more, and John found that the top hat looked _great_  on future dates. On the women, of course, not at dinner.

It had been a memorable case, and he kind of hated to admit (just a little) that it was one of the best _ever_.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun note: the phrase man panties came very close to making an appearance.  
> Be glad it didn't.


End file.
